


Unspecified Warranty

by untilitbreaks



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned, Present Tense, Retirement Announcement, so domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:39:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/untilitbreaks/pseuds/untilitbreaks
Summary: “No tale is more compelling than one that never ends.”





	Unspecified Warranty

**Author's Note:**

> In the mood for skating after the World Championships, I wrote this while trying to get into writing regularly. I had a lot of fun with this, so I hope you all enjoy! ^_^ I don’t have much experience with this fandom but decided to post this anyway.
> 
> Prompt (“I know how it ends, of course I know. I just forgot how it began”) by arajulesxx on tumblr/ @iridescent.petrichor on Instagram.

Yuuri and Victor walk into Victor’s press conference hand in hand, but Yuuri doesn’t sit with him when Victor takes his place at the desk in the front. He takes his hand and kisses his ring finger, and their eyes meet—and then Yuuri shuffles away to a corner of the room, a path made for him amid the impatient group of reporters who surround Victor like a murder of crows. Victor doesn’t answer any questions at first. He gets settled and surveys the people in front of him, and lifts the styrofoam cup in his hand to his mouth and pretends to drink, stalling further.

It’s hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows on top. Today is Victor’s first day of retirement, marked by his first real, formal announcement of the fact. Even when he started downgrading his quad-triple combinations to triple-triples and performing more of his elements in the first half of his programs, he had never allowed himself such a luxury. Yuuri had bought the drink for him; he’d ruffled Victor’s hair as he’d pocketed the change and told Victor that it wasn’t worth it to complain about Yuuri increasing his sugar intake exponentially. Victor had accepted it only as a reward for his top five finish at the World Championships.

The event itself is private, and the uproar caused by Victor’s appearance is silenced as soon as Victor regards the reporters causing the scene. Not even his coach is in attendance, although Yakov will be asked for commentary after the announcement. There are no flashing cameras—no more than necessary—and no extra spectators. The announcement will be recorded, but not televised live. There had been relatively no warning given before the conference had been called, and only a select few reporters were in attendance.

Morooka, technically an announcer but more or less covering the story anyway, had been at the forefront of the group of reporters at the start of the conference. By now he’s stepped aside to the back of the group, quietly watching the conference, writing down notes occasionally, but it’s clear that his questions have been answered. A former skater himself, Yuuri figures that Morooka knows that once a skater says they’re retired, they’re retired, and nothing will change their mind.

Yuuri doesn’t know this from experience. He’d considered retirement so realistically, finishing each of his programs at the Grand Prix Final of 2016 with a sort of acceptance; they were meant to be his last, but the flicker of doubt he’d felt while stepping off the ice was enough to convince him that his story wasn’t over.

 _Why_ Victor has decided to retire, and why now, are the only questions Victor had planned on answering, but pressure from the small group of reporters had caused him to change his mind early on. Yuuri marvels at how easily he’s adapted. Victor had been impatient and irritable this morning, but it doesn’t show now.

A reporter a few seats down from Yuuri is speaking now, standing up as he talks. “Does your reason for retiring at all have to do with your disappointing fifth place finish at the World Championships?”

“Yes, my decision is partially based on my results at Worlds. As I’ve said before, I’m not disappointed with my results. Fifth best in the world is a major accomplishment at my age—at any age,” Victor says. A decade ago, Yuuri imagines, he would have been more aggressive with his response. He’s not, now, but his legacy gives him authority and the media clings to every one of his words. “What has been bothering me is my score. It’s what I’ve become used to recently. I’m not performing at my best anymore, so I have decided, with guidance from my coach and family, that retirement is the best way to leave the competitive world while still feeling happy with myself and my capabilities.”

The weight of Victor’s words from a few years ago—“I didn’t expected Katsuki Yuuri to be such a selfish human being”—linger heavily over Yuuri as he listens to Victor speak. If his relationship with Victor had never progressed from that of a fan and his idol, a man who had given him little thought, if any at all, watching his retirement announcement would have felt less surreal than it did now. Or, if Victor had been less hard on him in 2016, he could have been lamenting the retirement of his former coach, with at least some degree of bitterness.

Victor has moved on to a new question, choosing a reporter seemingly at random, but Yuuri knows that Victor had wanted to choose which reporters he paid attention to based on the types of questions they’d asked him in the past. Yuuri had been surprised to hear him say this, at first. He’s been suspicious of his behavior in the past for a while, believing that Victor gave little attention to those he didn’t have to.

Apparently, he’d been wrong, but realizing that he still has a lot to learn about Victor is a feeling that is no longer strange to Yuuri.

“I’d like to coach after the competitive season is over.” Victor looks up and makes eye contact with Yuuri for the first time since the press conference had begun, and Yuuri tips his head the slightest bit—the most encouragement he can give Victor, while he longs to be at his side. “Watching Yuuri develop as a skater under my instruction and using my choreography has been more rewarding than anything I’ve accomplished on my own. If Yuuri serves as an example for what I could accomplish as a coach, then there is nothing that would make me happier than to bring a new generation of skaters to success.”

There is a moment of silence after Victor’s words. It’s rare that either Yuuri or Victor explicitly speaks about their journey together. It’s not rare that Victor compliments himself. It’s rare that Victor is so open about his dreams. It’s not the first time Victor has expressed his desire to coach to the public, but this is different than instructing Yuuri as he trains himself. It’s different now that Victor has retired.

There are hard questions to be asked, but there seems to be a mutual agreement to allow these answers to remain untouched. “Could we see your students in competition as soon as next season?”

Victor pauses to think about the question. Yuuri already knows the answer. Victor’s “connections” are closer to home than he’s admitting. And Victor’s claim that him coaching is just an “idea” does little to reflect how badly he aches for it. “Next season will come sooner than it seems. That would be much to hope for, but I will try my best.”

“How long have you been planning this?”

“Many years,” says Victor. “I know how it ends, of course I know.” He sips his drink and licks a bit of whipped cream off his upper lip, and Yuuri thinks that he’s the only one in the world right now that knows that Victor is nervous. “I just forgot how it began.”

The reporters are confused and angry, and Yuuri smiles to himself. Victor is just over thirty, and has been in the spotlight of figure skating since he was a junior. Victor has never been direct in what he tells the press. If they had expected Victor to give up his enigma now, then they were simply wrong, Yuuri thought. If they thought that Victor had no more surprises to give, then they were simply wrong.

“We know your story,” one woman says, almost desperately. “Is there anything more?”

“You say that as if my story is over,” Victor says. His eyes light up almost mischievously. “I’m not dropping off the face of the Earth. I still plan on attending shows. I still love skating for both myself and my fans.

His words spark general irritation in the crowd. Yuuri knows that he wouldn’t have given such a generic answer—that he wouldn’t have blatantly played around with the reporters—if he hadn’t been trying to avoid the question he’d been asked. It’s a tactic he’s gotten away with countless times in the past, and one nobody has ever found a way to get around as of yet. It’s a quirk that is amusing to some and infuriating to others.

“Some thought that you would be the first to perform a quadruple axel,” one reporter says, changing the subject to one the group can guilt Victor with. It’s one of the many repetitive questions that Victor has had to deal with, sparked by a reluctance, soon to be global, to accept his retirement despite his falling scores. “Why now?”

“At my age?” Victor smiles. “Every day it gets a little bit harder to put out the results I used to expect from myself, and some days I just can’t manage that. That’s how injuries occur. As I’ve gotten older, the threat of a serious injury has become more and more of a reality for me. More often than I’d like to admit, the effort it would take to get to the rink and train for hours would feel like a bigger cost than what the payout would eventually be worth, and all I would want to do is skip the day. I But I’ve contributed a lot to the sport, enough to be satisfied. Mastering the quad axel would be the cherry on top—but I would like to achieve it in other ways.”

“Like coaching?”

Victor flicks his hair out of his eyes. “Why not?”

The reporters immediately turn to Yuuri, probably because he’s the one who accompanied Victor rather than that he’s the one most fit for Victor’s tutelage of the jump. Yuuri only smiles and shakes his head. Lingering in the sport is a decision he’s made proudly, but he knows that there’s a limited amount of time left for him to be able to keep up with the upcoming stars—and unlike Victor, his decision to retire won’t be solely based on age.

Victor could have kept skating forever.

The press conference gradually ends as the questions become more personal and Victor becomes more irritable, glancing at Yuuri more than once with an expression that clearly conveys his emotions. Victor doesn’t make it out of his seat—or the reporters out of theirs—before Yuuri makes a beeline to Victor and hugs him. The click of cameras that follows them out of the room is a sound that Yuuri has gotten used to over the years. The media devours the relationship they have however they see fit to interpret it.

Figure skating is a sport that changes rapidly, a fact that is beneficial to younger skaters and career-ending to older ones. Eventually, there will be new stars. Yuri Plisetsky hadn’t waited for Victor’s retirement to grab Victor’s position as the top Russian skater—and the best skater in the world. But there will be others after him, that may surpass him faster than he did Victor, that may jump more quads or the quad axel or may give up on good choreography entirely as to perfect the art of jumps—not that the ISU will allow this, but nobody can predict in which ways the sport will change far in the future.

And it’s Victor who loves skating so dearly that not even retirement can keep him away from orchestrating the sport long after his years as a competitor are over.

“I was half expecting them to ask me my plans for the 2019-2020 season,” says Victor, when they’ve finally escaped the stuffy atmosphere of the room, the corners of his lips quirking upwards into a smile. The press conference had only been the beginning, but the light tone of Victor’s voice suggests that a heavy weight has been lifted from his shoulders.

“But you do have plans,” Yuuri points out.

“You’re right,” Victor says. He puts his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, bringing him close. “I do.”

Yuuri expects that to be the end of the conversation, but a sigh escapes Victor’s lips, and he continues. “They were right about one thing, though. About me having students in competition next season.” He turns to look at Yuuri, his expression indescribable. “You won’t retire, will you? Yuuri, I want you to compete for me. I want you to show the world what you’ve made me realize.”

Making the decision to retire now—even after Victor has done it, Yuuri doesn’t feel as though he’s ready. Victor can encourage him or dissuade him to retire as much as he wants, but Yuuri’s decision will be made more independently than Victor’s. 

No matter how well or how poorly he skates, Yuuri never wants to leave the ice. And neither does Victor.

“I’ll consider it,” says Yuuri, and Victor’s gaze softens.

Victor pushes open the door for them, and stops them in front of the building. He lets go of Yuuri and reaches for his hands instead—and squeezes them tightly. “I’m been thinking of where I’d like to base my facilities as a coach. You’re my first student, Yuuri. I can’t keep you away from Japan forever.”

Yuuri inhales sharply. “Victor—”

“Listen, Yuuri,” he says, something like panic edging into his voice. “It’s not just you. I’ve thought a lot about which country needs me and even where I would face the most competition. I could go anywhere and skaters would come to me. I’ve seen for myself what skating is like in Japan. There could be more than what there is—a handful of talented skaters that have to train overseas to be recognized. I was ignorant, and you’ve shown me what it’s like elsewhere. I want to bring skaters’ dreams to life, in Japan.” 

“Victor, I—” Yuuri shakes his head. “I can’t say…”

“I can’t guarantee that it would be close to home for you,” Victor says. He laces his fingers with Yuuri’s. Light catches on the surface of their rings. “But it would be in Japan, not Russia. If that would offer you any familiarity, in the culture, or food—or—or _anything,_ I want that.”

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes. His eyes grow blurry and a tear runs down his cheek, and although it feels foreign to him, it must feel even more foreign to Victor, who grins at Yuuri through his own tears. “ _Thank you._ ”


End file.
